


A Pain in the Goddamn Ass

by Cruisingforabruising



Category: RWBY
Genre: Drabble, Frustrated Old Men, Ironwick, Jovial laughter, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-Volume 2, The Full Sex, initial dubcon, this is totally stream of consciousness you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruisingforabruising/pseuds/Cruisingforabruising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having custody over Roman Torchwick is a fairly standard affair for James Ironwood... up to a point. But when Roman becomes sick to death of being cooped up all the time, just how does the General cope?</p>
<p>He doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mild Pain In The Ass

Roman found, during his time in custody, that Ironwood became accustomed to his impeccable wit far too quickly. Frankly, it annoyed the criminal to absolutely no end, but he was relieved to eventually be allowed to walk around; first time he was permitted, his eyes burnt with the stagnant white of the room. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he reluctantly stepped out, legs aching, nearly creaking.  


If there was one thing he'd learnt about James in time, was that the man was far less level-headed than he let on. Constantly, he'd rant about "Blowing those damn Grimm outta the sky"-or something equally mundane. Roman didn't particularly care, but he supposed he had to listen... not that he was able to report back. No, this was for his own gain. His own, slow diffusion, into the forefront of Ironwood's mind. Another thing he'd learnt was that the older man spent far too much time in conference calls. Usually with government officials, and occasionally with Beacon's Headmaster.  


But he desired attention-possibly a little too much, as the General found one day. A conference, rudely interrupted by the redhead popping his head up, into shot, hands were upon Ironwood's lap, and it all looked a little bit lewd from the other side. Really, his appearance was completely spontaneous, and Roman could feel the other man tense underneath his grasp, a glare boring into the redhead's keen expression.  


_"Ooh, hello..! You're not continuing this party without me, are you, James?-"_  


_"Go away, Torchwick."_  


James rolled his eyes, tapping the wifi key to bring the call to an abrupt end; he'd pass it off as his connection going dead, that was the thing about being so high up. The connection really was shaky.  


_"Aww, way to kill the mood..! I just wanted to--yknow--listen in. Is that such a big deaaal?"_ That damned boyish laugh again, it made him look ten years younger.  


_"We still have no idea who you're with, yet you're bringing brazen requests like that to the table?" Quite literally, "You're either the bravest man I've ever met, or the stupidest--and get your hands off me"_. Forever stern, was Ironwood. But Roman could see plain in his eyes, his resolve beginning to crumble. A sly grin made its way onto his face when he slowly brought himself to face-level with the seated General; they were tauntingly close to each other, and Roman wanted nothing more than to let himself go.  


_"Now, then. Cooped up in that box, do you have any idea how stuffy it gets in there..?"_  


_"I can't say I do."_  


_"How **hot** it gets."_ Roman's hands gripped the other man's tie. The usually-composed Ironwood cocked his head, to glare once more at the criminal now perched firmly on his lap.  


_"Roman Torchwick, are you trying to seduce me?"_  


_"Not trying. I think I've already succeeded... say, Ironwood, how long has it been since you last got laid?"_  


What a hassle. That'd be what Ironwood would think, as lips languidly clashed; Roman had a knack for finding out the little things, such as what he enjoyed, and dear lord, Roman was right. Just how long had it been? Too long, apparently, as he found himself groaning into the enemy's mouth at the touch of a tongue-if the others knew, they'd have his head. That brief state of unawareness had given time for Roman to begin straddling him, hips grinding down eagerly against James' own.  


He was gone, head tipping back so a moan could spill from his open mouth.  


_"Y-you're such a pest... I should call security in."_ A growl bubbled at the back of Ironwood's throat. Apparently, that was the last scare tactic in the book, one which Torchwick saw straight through.  


_"You sure that's a stellar idea? They'd see you like this. How shameful would that be--so, let's keep this between us, okay? Now, where's your bedroom. I'd rather not fuck you in a chair."_  


Ironwood grumbles, resolve finally depleted.  


_"Give me a massage after, and we've got a deal. The job was stressful enough before you turned up, now it's hell."_  


_"Do I have to? You're probably old and shrivelled."_  


_"You're ridiculous, Torchwick."_


	2. A Literal Pain In the Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains "the full sex". Apparently. People were asking for it.

It was only supposed to happen one time, perhaps he’d been too lenient-that was the thought which may have crossed his mind in any other situation-however, this was not that situation.

Ironwood, Ironwood. Just how he got into this predicament was beyond him, but the fact of the matter was--his criminal was most certainly on top of him, whilst James was naught but a captive audience to Roman's ministrations. Fingers traced so carefully over Ironwood's skin that he thought he may crumble under the sheer force of their tension. The redhead stared straight down, in a meeting of blue and green eyes, a wry grin covering the thief's features. Their clothes were long gone, the younger man's elation only elevating when he observed just how hard the usually-stern General was. 

And it was all for him. Cue a gleeful chuckle. 

Of course, now he was but a panting mess, driven mad by Roman's insatiable urge to plant kisses just about everywhere. His usually-domineering stance had become utter ruin, body writhing under Torchwick's; he wanted-no, needed more contact, and in a futile attempt, he tried to elicit that same contact which he was so desperate for, hips rising to meet the other man's, that same man who was perched just shy of his standing cock, endlessly teasing with the cleft of his ass-but he knew he wasn’t quite ready. 

Although, Ironwood definitely was-too bad there was little he could do. His hands were tied, figuratively and literally, with the promise of a rest, and the restraint of Torchwick’s cravat around both a mechanical, and an organic wrist; Ironwood would need to remember to install an auto-release mechanism, because this was ridiculous. 

His alarm was raised further when Roman’s lips traced his neck, nipping and sucking at the General’s flesh, tongue running over it until it bloomed to a wonderful reddened hue. Ironwood could only groan in response, too far-gone to do anything else. Down his remarkably muscular torso, Roman went, until he reached the older man’s waiting cock-in truth, James _had_ wanted to fuck Roman there and then-but he guessed he’d need to wait. 

_“T-Torchwick, I swear to god. I-if you--”_ He was rudely interrupted by the criminal’s warm mouth surrounding his cock, forcing a drawn-out moan from Ironwood as the redhead gradually took him in-little did he know, this was a further tease from the man; as soon as James’ breathing became remotely erratic, the thief would pull off, mouth extracted with a slight ‘pop’, though his tongue still lingered upon the head-and oh, god. If Ironwood had no self-respect he would’ve come there and then, under Roman’s scrutinising gaze. 

Finally, he piped up with something. 

_“What’s wrong, James? Cat got your tongue, hm..?”_

It only served to piss him off more, that insufferably gorgeous prick. He immediately nodded toward a drawer, a gesture in desperation made plain by his flustered-yet-defiant glare. Precisely this was what made Roman have a rethink-would he continue his unrelenting teasing, or would he finally allow himself a _little_ gratification. Dare he allow Ironwood to come anywhere but inside of him would be a vague addition to the extensive list of his own criminal ‘doings’. 

What Roman did next, however, surprised the General; he was well and truly a man expecting to be fucked, but instead, the criminal’s fingers teased at his own entrance, having removed the small bottle, uncapped it, and spread a liberal amount upon separated fingers-boy, oh boy. What a sight that was, one which made Ironwood crave the feeling of Roman’s skin upon his fingers; however, another attempt to escape the exceptionally well-tied cravat was proven to be in vain. Digits circling, they eventually intruded after what felt like an eternity to the headmaster, and he revelled in the sight of Roman’s contorting face. 

Of course, it always was a little uncomfortable at first. But bringing up his pace, he quickly got to the point where a second finger was added, and a short while after? A third. To be honest, Roman was unsure as to whether it’d be enough; although the General was only a little above average in length, he kept to the rest of his physique with a girth that exceeded expectations. His one free hand moved to loosen and untie the neckwear about Ironwood’s wrists, observing it fall to the side of him. 

_“Just this once, Ironwood—no funny business.”_ Roman chides in that less-than-serious tone of his. 

_“I suppose I do need this as much as you do.”_ A simple grunt would’ve been sufficient, but it was sure nice to hear James talk again. 

Strong, yet not entirely human hands secured Roman’s sides when the man finally lowered himself upon Ironwood’s waiting cock; it felt as if the air was being pushed out of him, and he found himself terribly out of breath when he bottomed out, a process which took far longer than Roman would’ve given him credit for. A keen whine tumbled from reddened lips, and he took to resting his hands upon Ironwood’s chest, gradually pushing himself up—then letting himself back down again, an action which earned a groan. 

“Yeah, yeah. D-don’t make this quick—I know tha-that’s no easy feat for you.” He could only utter a stammer; something about having a dick brushing against that bundle of nerves caused such a reaction, an intrusive jolt of pleasure through his entire being-something he suspected to be the same for Ironwood, the man with the ever-appropriate name. Their pace began quickening, hips meeting with the disgraceful slap of skin; Roman was so depraved, he loved it, moaning in unison with the General’s heavy breathing, occasional gasps and groans from the larger man. Of course, Ironwood hated to admit how little he minded-or rather, how much he enjoyed this, and after a while, the two men were both a panting, sweaty mess. Fingernails dug into one hip, whereas curved marks were left in Roman’s wake with each thrust. 

He’d swear his eyes rolled back a little at the sheer feeling of the General’s seed filling him, loud moans filled the room as the criminal followed with his own climax, it landing upon his own chest; a better fate than James’. A strange feeling washed over him, almost euphoric in nature, one which dissipated when he pulled off. 

Oh, man. That was gross. That was always gross. But so, so worth it for the dishevelled man below him. 

_“So, I let you out your cell, you tie me, I fuck you—but whatever next, do I allow you to shower, pretend like none of this happened?”_

_“You know there’ll be a next time, General.”_ They were both unable to stifle a light-hearted, possibly “post-sex haze”-related chuckle. 

_“There always is.”_


	3. A Royal Pain In the Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUESS WHAT, YOU GUYS!
> 
> They shag (again).
> 
> But let's face it, you read this for the witty banter.

Funnily enough, after that series of affairs, Roman and Ironwood’s relationship continued on as normal; the latter proceeding to be affable to his peers, and less so to Torchwick, whereas the former thrived on getting a rise out of not only the guardsmen, but the General, too.

He glances about the box he now reluctantly called his “home”. Because, truly, that’s all it was-a small black box, vented in the back and with little in the way of leg-room. It’d been about… a month, he suspected, and although he’d first ‘seduced’ the older man two weeks prior, they’d had a singular engagement since. Roman shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. Having been perched there for such a long time, he had the theory that his arse had been made as square as his very place of imprisonment, but that was only half of his problem. Like most other men, he had urges, and by the gods, there was little-to-no way to sate them without being otherwise noticed or reprimanded for his actions. He cursed the General for being up to so much; really, he did. 

So imagine his utmost surprise, almost excitement when he saw that door open up, revealing none other than Ironwood himself; he could hardly hide his elation, though the feeling quickly dissipated when it became perfectly pristine that the light would do nothing but hurt his eyes, already feeling the burning sting at the back of his sockets—god damnit. It always begun like this, the indignant, yet familiar glare that accompanied the General, the subtle scent of the cologne he tended to wear—it was enough to bring Roman’s lips up into a wry smirk. The very aroma of something luxurious, something expensive, was more than enough to whet his appetite; only being allowed the most basic of amenities would cause such an effect, and his disregard for such cheap products very nearly brought about an outcry. Yet, a man had to stay clean, so clean he stayed, lest he become less than desirable to the other man, with his salt and pepper hair. 

Raising his head to meet with the General’s eyes, Roman finally spoke. 

**“So, Woody. Whatever brings you here? Ah, don’t tell me—there’s a snake in your boot.”**

He’d swear the corner of James’s mouth curled upwards, if only for a second. Then came that authoritative voice that only served to make Roman shiver. 

**“Nothing of the sort. Trousers, actually; but that’s not the point. I’m wondering more along the lines of whether you’re finally going to speak-you’ve been here a month, and nothing. Oftentimes, I’d congratulate someone on their resolve, but since it’s you, and you are actively hindering our cause, then I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”**

**“Mistreating your prisoner? What a shame! The scandal! Quit the crap, James, I know you waived those guards away the moment you opened this cell door—”**

**“What’s it to you?”** Even if there had been guards of a sort present, they’d still not be able to detect the hint of a smile. Roman was, as per usual, perceptive, recognising the General’s usual pattern of getting his men to leave.

**“Well, you could stop lying to literally nobody but yourself. C’mon, I’ve given information, but it’s hardly like they told me much! Although—“**

**“—Although what?”** Arrived the looming figure’s immediate interruption. 

**“I’d happily trade time out of this cell for a bit of information. It’s hardly like I’ve missed your quarters, but they’re a world away from this box you’ve kept me cooped up in for at least a month. Feels like years. Hopefully doesn’t look it.”** Unfortunately, the criminal’s face did show signs of fatigue, despite that he was faring fairly well in the environment. Darkened circles accentuated already-dark eyes, and his bangs had become rather unkempt, bordering on wavy. His features, although not outrageously gaunt, were paler than usual, and the lack of concealer exposed a small smattering of freckles dotted about his nose. 

It was quite cute, if the General was perfectly honest with himself. 

A sigh, a hand extended, and there was an audible click when Roman stood-one would think he’d be discouraged by such a thing, it truly showed how much he wished to escape such a confined space, if only for a minute. Luckily for him, it transpired to be far longer than a minute, as they wordlessly made their way over to Ironwood’s accommodation of sorts. Stagnantly silent, the only audible noise was that of their shoes tapping against porcelain-white flooring, and Roman swore he could feel his heart thrumming through his chest. This was, of course, absolutely not the case, and Roman internally chastised himself for thinking something so utterly implausible. 

To arrive at where they needed to be, required a moderately long walk (for one lone structure), and a journey in an elevator. Again, no guards, and Roman found himself wondering if they hid, or had cloaking devices; if the latter in his paranoia-addled brain was to be truth, it’d be far more difficult to escape (but that’d be in due time; he had a General to mess with). By far, the elevator ride felt like the longest part of their trip, and the silence was beginning to irk Roman, so he begins with a classic conversational starter: 

**“So, James. Nice weather we’re havin’, huh?”**

**“Roman, you’ve not seen outside of this airship in over a week.”**

**“Spoilsport.”**

And that was the end of that short exchange. 

The moment they finally arrived in Ironwood’s room was indeed a spontaneously heated one; the very moment the door shut was the moment the taller of the two decided to force Roman’s wrists together, and above his head; this did, if anything, prompt a response from the younger of the two. 

**“Ah. Is this the part where you finally tell me the real reason why you brought me in here? Surely, General, this is a little unprofessional for a business meeting.”** He appeared completely unfazed by his arms being forced up, in fact, it was the farthest they’d been able to stretch for a fair while, so he was mainly met by relief in that respect. Still, he thought he’d better give the other some form of gratification, so he did make a vague attempt to twist his wrists out of Ironwood’s grasp-to absolutely no avail, and little surprise. 

**“Well, Torchwick. You’ve caught me red-handed. Metaphorically. Although more information would be a wonderful boon to this endeavour, so if you’ve anything to tell, spit it out.”**

**“At this rate there’ll only be one thing I’m spitting ou—“** Another interruption, boy was the General on a roll! The difference was that this interruption was his lips colliding feverishly with Roman’s as if to tell him to shut up and get on with it, and Torchwick was only too happy to oblige, his thoughts of earlier on lingering at the forefront of his mind whilst his tongue languidly clashed with Ironwood’s. Said thoughts were dispelled the moment his ‘partner’ pulled away, cool air once more filling his lungs. 

**“Okay. So I may have been hasty there—let’s just—we’ll take this to my room, alright?”** He panted, and there was little room to complain as Roman was led along living quarters, being told in no uncertain terms to strip (there was the commanding tone in his voice again, the one that always made his eager cock twitch). Now, this time, his cravat wasn’t used as a makeshift pair of cuffs; hell, it wasn’t even made into a blindfold, and it made Roman wonder if the General was just a little too trusting. Although, the myriad of those meaningless thoughts left him the moment his nude form was forcibly thrown to the bed, knees and hands landing upon plush bedding-- what he’d give to have his own again, yet that was hardly his focus. Daring himself not to look back, he could hear the rustle of clothing, heavy clothing, crumpling to the carpet. 

**“If I may be so bold—could I turn myself over? I’d prefer to see your face than a pillow.”**

As if he was about to give Ironwood any sort of choice in the matter; Roman’s suddenly face to face with the other man, and they may or may not have both been blushing-only then did they realise it. There was little denying that, although Roman was slightly skinnier than he was last time, he was still a highly attractive man, and the General cursed himself at the musing that maybe he was becoming difficult to hate. Said musings were prematurely cut off by a hand grasping at Ironwood’s, pulling him down onto the expanse of the bed; suddenly, the General’s teeth were at Roman’s collar, nipping and biting at the skin which garnered a sultry groan from the redhead, and a slight gyration of his hips. They continued on like this for a good few minutes, until Roman’s body was littered by would-be bruises, by which point he was pressing kisses to Roman’s inner thighs in a gesture of what would’ve been misplaced affection at any other time. 

**“Aah—honestly, this is quite sweet of you, Ironwood, but—ohhh, god.”** Before he could quite process what was transpiring, James’s mouth was enclosed about the head of Roman’s (notably sizable) cock, the younger of the two moaning and curling his toes in immediate response. At least it’d keep the General quiet, and he keened and groaned with every ministration, the other’s tongue flat against his shaft, he’d more or less managed to take all of Roman in, the redhead relishing the sight of the other man looking so debauched, his cock once more twitching at the prospect of him looking even moreso later on. As soon as Ironwood finally began bobbing up and down his shaft, it was nothing but effort to stop himself from thrusting upward into his mouth, letting out a series of expletives in his wake because dear god, although the General was slightly clumsy (he immediately guessed that he lacked quite the experience he had), it was of no objection that every single movement felt incredible, and Torchwick felt himself unfurling at the seams. 

Roman’s groans echoed through the room, and Ironwood was so thankful for soundproofing and locked doors, as he pulled off Roman with a disgraceful pop. His face flushed, he takes a couple of seconds to catch his breath (and to peer up at Roman with lips remaining parted), lavishing his captive’s cock with attention once more. There was an encroaching feeling in the pit of Roman’s stomach as he was almost giving in to pleasure; good god, the way Ironwood was going on, occasionally allowing groans of himself to slip and reverberate about Roman’s cock, he knew he’d have a scant chance of lasting much longer. 

**“J-James… m’gonna cum—ah—god…!”** There was a subtle nod, as if giving him permission, all the while Ironwood stayed put. Waves of pleasure raptured through Roman’s body, knuckles white from how hard he’d gripped at the sheets as his cum spilled into Ironwood’s waiting mouth—to his surprise, not a drop was wasted, yet the General’s brow was furrowed as he pulled off. 

**“G-gee, Ironwood. Didn’t take y-you for the type.”** He gives the other a devilish grin. 

**“I’m not. I just didn’t want any to get on the sheets.”** Came his succinct retort. 

Whilst Roman was temporarily spent, the General absolutely was not, having become completely hard through the entire ordeal; it only took one glance at the greying man to notice it, which earned a wry grin from the panting criminal. An enquiring stare as the General got down to pouring lubricant onto his fingers-where did he get it from? Roman never bothered to check, he was too eager about the prospect of actually getting laid, and he squirmed, groaned when Ironwood pressed a first finger in with ease, pushing his hips forward so that finger stayed at the knuckle. A whine when Ironwood’s finger left him became pleasured in tone when that finger was replaced by two, hips raised to accommodate him further; again, easier than expected, and the General found himself quirking an eyebrow at the realisation that Roman may have been up to more than he’d previously bargained for. So, with an inquisitive tone, he wonders aloud: 

**“Did you know this was going to happen?”** All the while curling, thrusting, and adding another one of his fingers. 

**“P-perhaps. Hardly matters—ooh, you’re fuckin’ good at that.”** So perhaps the compliment made the older man smile, however he remained diligent as those skilled fingers were almost like a piston, in and out of Roman with great speed, and gods above, at this rate he’d be screaming the General’s name as he was fully erect once more, brought on by unrelenting stimulation. 

When Ironwood finally had the younger man fully prepped, Torchwick was a panting mess, whimpering and whining obscenities, that he wanted the General to fuck him, hips unwittingly raised off the bed in an act of pure submission. The other nods, concluding that it was overdue that he fuck Roman, and as he pressed into the man, slowly at first, a long, drawn-out groan slips from parted lips, a sharp intake of breath from the redhead’s end when slender digits dig into bedcovers, curling those fingers whilst raising his hips to meet the General’s once more. 

The first thrust was always bound to be a tricky one, an experimental push to ensure that the redhead was sufficiently prepped-and if the drawn-out, desperate groan that escaped from the redhead’s parted lips was anything to go by, James had accomplished precisely what he set out to do. So they continue on for a few minutes, Roman’s face redder by the moment, breaths more and more laboured by the second, moans becoming completely wanton in nature as he felt himself being debauched by the General. There was, however, only so long that Roman’s ‘partner’ was able to keep thrusting, and though the change in their position was sudden, a pleasured scream raptured through Roman’s body, hips gyrating alone maintaining their effortless momentum, even from his new position atop the other man. Every single thrust felt harder and deeper than the last, whilst Torchwick’s hands were immersed in his own tousled locks. Occasionally, the older man would let out a grunt or a groan, but otherwise, the only indicators were his reddening features, the slight twitch that Roman would feel, and-- 

Gods above, he was seeing stars. Even more-so when James’s fingers curled harshly into his hips. 

Heat coiled and twisted in his gut; there was only so much of the General’s cock he could take before he’d surely pass out with pleasure, so one hand was released from his hair, wrapping around his shaft, giving a couple of eager tugs.

**“G-General… god, f-fuuuck, n-not again...!”** Torchwick’s speech was slurred, nearly unintelligible, however James took this as permission to allow his release to tear through him, erratic thrusts coupled with a loud groan, and Roman became host to his debauchery; few thrusts following the General’s release arrived Roman’s needy second climax. It was all-too-convenient that Roman had positioned himself to keep Ironwood clean, something the that other was utterly thankful for—or, he would’ve been, had Roman not collapsed atop him the moment he extricated himself from around his companion.

In the event that James was any mood other than utterly satisfied, he’d be furious with Torchwick, would’ve made him do the walk of shame back to his cell, then elaborately cover up the story with some of his own guards as mere pawns… yet there was no real reason to, was there? He peers down at Roman’s already-sleeping form with mild sympathy, and perhaps a little amusement. The one human hand rakes through ginger hair, gently untangling knots with a tender touch previously thought impossible of the man. Then, a kiss to the temple. No doubt there’d be ample questioning to be done in the following hours, but as he spied the peaceful smile upon Torchwick’s face, his mere reaction was to pull the covers up over the both of them.

James would assign help in accordance with his arm in due time, once he thought up an elaborate scheming fib to cover his track, the truthful reasoning for the malfunction. A light blush tickles his cheeks, and he made a mental offering of thanks to whatever gods ensured that the criminal was asleep. Laboured breathing on his part became soft, eventually slowing to a relaxed pace…

And maybe, just maybe, there was a smirk upon his face as well.


End file.
